


The Thirteenth Order

by HakureiRyuu



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Gen, Nobody - Freeform, Somebody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 17:06:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HakureiRyuu/pseuds/HakureiRyuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thirteen people who used to be human, and one individual who never was. Fourteen drabbles. Fourteen glances into the thoughts of the infamous Organization XIII.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thirteenth Order

_"Emotion turning back on itself, and not leading on to thought or action, is the element of madness."_ —John Sterling

* * *

 **I. The Superior**

Anyone who watched Xehanort would have said that he was brilliant. Ansem certainly thought so, though that proved to be his downfall. That, plus a few strokes of luck, proved to be the whole of Radiant Garden's downfall.

The heart experiments had been Lord Ansem's idea, but he never meant for them to them to go so far. Xehanort pushed him to continue further and further than either of them ever dared, and the little successes they made amidst all the failures only fueled the apprentice's determination to see it through to the end. He could ignore the subtle darkening of his skin even though he rarely left the palace anymore, because he finally knew what the flashes of blue eyes behind his own gold were—they were memories.

But then his master's inherrent cowardice finally kicked in, just like Braig told him it would. Ansem shut down the lab and burned all the results. However, by then, Xehanort had a taste of what darkness could do for him, and he wanted more. Braig helped him lay the groudwork, and soon the other four were drawn into the circle by their own lust for power. Even Ienzo, young as he was, saw the potential of what they were creating. And if even a nine-year-old could see it, then Ansem was a fool who didn't deserve to call himself a scientist.

Xehanort would become the new Ansem, and cast the old into oblivion, where fools like him belonged. But Xehanort would not just rule Radient Garden, oh no. He knew now that he had a far greater destiny.

Xehanort was the Superior long before he became Xemnas. By virtue of his genius, of his unprecedented discoveries, he was superior in every way but one—and plans to correct that were already forming in his mind...

A Nobody.

A perfect being.

 

 **II. The Freeshooter**

Braig was far from stupid, and everyone knew it. He had been Xehanort's "ace-in-the-hole," as it were, although trusting him with _that_ much information was probably a bad idea. He was just there for kicks, after all. And if this new Xehanort formulated a slightly different plan, then who was he to tell him otherwise? Wasn't Braig's fault the old fart couldn't control his host and wound up with amnesia.

So, naturally, when even the new Xehanort's plans went slightly awry and they formed The Organization (the arbitrary _XIII_ wouldn't be added until much later), no one questioned it when Xigbar established himself as number two, because that's what he was. He never did much to the obvious eye, but he _saw_ more than even their high-and-mighty Superior. And _while_ said high-and-mighty Superior went around giving monotone orders and making monotone promises, Xigbar kicked back and watched the rat race, occassionally tossing in a few scraps when things got too boring.

The introduction of their final (real) member re-excited his old killer instincts after more than a decade of more or less sheathing his claws—and it wasn't just the continual reminder a face he would never forget. The Keyblades were back in action. Things were bound to get interesting again.

So he watched.

And waited.

 

 **III. The Whirlwind Lancer**

He had a sense of humor, once. Though he took his job quite seriously, Dilan could always find something amusing to laugh at in the palace. The back-and-forth power play of the visiting dignitaries. The childish awe of some of the citizens. The antics of a pair of troublemakers always trying to break in.

He could even laugh at Lord Ansem's determination to turn a blind eye to his own wrongdoings, though it never rose above a private chuckle. Ansem was a great ruler, but greatness comes from experience—experience gained from dealings on _both_ ends of the moral spectrum. However much he pretended otherwise, Ansem the Wise was no patron saint of righteousness, and neither was the aptly-named Radient Garden a paragon of enlightened living.

Xehanort, the boy Braig had found in the middle of the square, was like-minded. After only a few months of palace life, the sheer hypocracy of it all disgusted him. It only got worse after Lord Ansem halted the heart experiments—once again, realizing only in hindsight the morality of his actions.

There was something funny about that too, but for the life of him, Dilan couldn't pinpoint what it was.

Many years later, long after Dilan became Xaldin, he occassionally sought out ways to amuse himself. Though it never really worked in the sense he wanted it too, he could sort of tell what _would_ have been amusing, or at least guess. The complete and utter lack of a concience sort of broadened his horizons on what might be considered funny. In particular, he noticed exactly how easy it was to manipulate people when he himself was not in posession of emotions. He was in complete control.

Of course, there was absolutely nothing funny about that, but that was something Xaldin would never know.

 

 **IV. The Chilly Academic**

When Even first woke up as a Nobody, he spent a long time simply marveling at the sheer _emptiness_ that was his chest cavity. The unbridaled novelty of it facinated him, as did the fact that curiosity essentially much the only feeling left to him. He reasoned, quite correctly of course, that curiosity fuels thought, which in turn forced his nonexistant body to continue living another day.

As Vexen, he did experiments on himself—and on Zexion, whenever the boy could be pursuaded. They re-performed the tests that had originally led to the collapse of their hearts, but the results were ineffective and inconclusive. Following that (and the novel sensation that the failure of an experiment didn't faze him in the slightest), he simply worked with what he had. He tested and re-tested the boundaries of what he was capable of feeling and pretending to feel.

Sociopathy was inherent in the very nature of a Nobody, particularly intelligent Nobodies such as those that made up Organization XIII. Heartless showed a distinctive hive-mentality in their behavior, and lesser Nobodies simply followed orders, limited though their capacity was to understand them, but human-shaped Nobodies were clearly different. Vexen understood fear, anger, protectiveness, pride. He even understood _Even's_ pride—indeed, from such an outside point of view, he understood Even better than Even ever under stood himself. Vexen understood all of that. As a Nobody, he simply had the ability to choose or choose not to care.

And that was the interesting part. Choosing to care took infinitely more skill and forethought than simply giving in to the natural tendencies of those without hearts. However, the opposite was _not_ true for those _with_ hearts. That discovery led Vexen to dive even deeper into his research, particularly into his Replica division. The hearts that Replicas developed appeared to be generated at random, and though they could be molded even after their creation—rather like real hearts—he had yet to pinpoint the cause of their creation in the first place.

In the end, however, hearts were incredibly fragile things when all was said and done, but only Vexen understood exactly _why_ most people died upon their loss. The others could mock him all they liked, but they'd soon realize why he was among the highest in rank.

Fools. All of them.

 

 **V. The Silent Hero**

Lexaeus didn't mind being a Nobody. Honestly, he didn't.

Little, if anything, had changed the day he lost his heart. In all honesty, he had rarely used his heart even before that day, so he was among the first to recover when they realized what happened. No one panicked when they all realized they couldn't feel anymore, for obvious reasons, but Aeleus was the only one of them (barring Xehanort of course) who was able to stand after it happened. The others had collapsed from the physical shock and stayed that way for at least an hour, some of them more.

He re-visited Radient Garden once, but only once. Just as they had all recieved new names upon the loss of their hearts, the capital of Light had been reborn as a nest of darkness under the Maleficent's rule. Like Nobodies, Hollow Bastion was an entirely different entity than its predecessor—similar in some ways, but crucially different in all the ways that mattered.

Lexaeus never put himself forward, but he _noticed_ things the others didn't. He watched as, no matter how they tried to fight it, every one of them became as "heartless" as their leader. Even his fellow palace guards, though they took oaths of honor when they accepted the position, fell from their high pedestals just like Radient Garden. Though Aelaeus had always placed the highest value on cameradery—not necessarily friendship, but the trust that someone would always have your back—watching the power games of his fellow Organization members did not sicken him as it would have his other.

The day he first made a little backstab of his own, he was almost surprised at himself. Apparently he wasn't any different from the rest after all.

 

 **VI. The Cloaked Schemer**

Growing up without a heart was an odd experience. Then again, one might wonder how much growing up Ienzo even had left. Alternations of bitterness and apathy had sustained him after his parents died, and though Lord Ansem was kind to him, it was in the cold sterility of Professor Even's labs that the child found sanctuary. When Xehanort and Braig dragged Even into their "experiments" on the human heart, Ienzo was happy to follow—partly out of curiosity, and partly just to have something to do.

It was different when the consequenses of their experiments were wrought upon themselves. It seemed as though he was watching everything through a mirrored haze until he got used to it. His body grew as it ought, but his mind never changed from that of a genius nine-year-old with deceptively blank eyes. Xehanort—Xemnas now—rose above the others quickly in their confusion. He game them all new names—new purposes—and promised to return their hearts to them.

Even then, Zexion knew when he was being lied to.

Vexen made something of a study on him, particularly when his body started changing as the years went by. It sent out hormones and other chemicals, just like any other teenaged body, but something went astray between the brain and the action of _feeling_. The blood tests were just confirmation of what Zexion already knew, and somehow... it was liberating.

It wasn't long before he stopped even trying to want to care.

 

 **VII. The Luna Diviner**

It wasn't that he didn't remember his life as Isa, far from it. The memories of his life as a human, the hope that he could get it all back, were what drove Saïx to continue. When they found Lea shortly after they found him, it was enough to know that the appearance of his friend _would_ have made him relieved, because he still had the hope that he would be _able_ to feel relieved again someday. That is, until he remembered that having his vibrant friend as a Nobody was the _worst_ possible thing that could have happened.

He almost didn't want to believe it when Axel shared his suspicions of Xemnas's true intentions, but there was no denying the evidence of their leader's actions. The man was using them, every single one of them, as pawns in his own games, using the promise of a new heart to keep them all at his side. Privately, Saïx thought he could be angry at that, but pragmatically... he almost admired the Superior for his skill. Manipulating humans was one thing—hearts, while wonderfully versitile assets, had more than their share of weaknesses to exploit. Nobodies had no emotions to play on, but apparently those were not the only weaknesses available

Saïx forgot nothing as time passed, but gradually the memories started to mean less to him in light of his own growing power and influence. He still wanted a heart, of course. That never changed. But he started wanting other things just as much, if not more. And the things he had, he started wanting less. He almost didn't notice the changes over the years, that's how subtle they were. But Axel noticed. And his reaction to that was probably the one thing that Saïx came the closest to regretting.

They weren't friends anymore. They hadn't been for a long time. The memory of friendship sustained them for a while, but it wasn't real and never had been. And now they weren't even allies working toward the same goal. It was almost a shock (almost) to realize that, just like all the others, Saïx had stopped caring. Axel, on the other hand, wasn't capable of not caring. Or rather, he was, but when he realized that, he couldn't live with it, and fought it to his last breath.

In a way, Saïx reflected, neither of them had changed all that much. What little that _did_ change, however, was changed in all the ways that mattered. That said, he almost wasn't surprised at Axel's betrayal. He almost didn't regret it either.

Almost.

 

 **VIII. The Flurry of Dancing Flames**

Ironically, or perhaps not, it wasn't until Axel started experiencing emotions that he began to feel like there was something missing.

He felt nothing. He couldn't even feel one way or the other _about_ feeling nothing, though he knew from his memories that Lea would likely be pissed about the situation. He was a real vibrant kid, Lea. Sort of like Sora in that regard, except slightly more obnoxious. Axel knew he would have had something to say about all this, and it wouldn't be kind. But he couldn't even care about _that_ either.

When Roxas came along, he didn't make the mistake of deluding himself into thinking he liked him because he reminded him of good times gone. The fact that he looked like that kid what's-his-name wasn't really a factor either, whatever Xigbar thought. No, what initially drew Axel to make friends with their youngest member was simply... the fact that Roxas had no agenda. None whatsoever.

He trusted Roxas because the kid never gave him a reason not to. In between fighting to push Saïx to the top of the food chain, getting rid of potential competitors, covering their tracks, and generally destabilizing the Organization's upper brass to set them up for the ultimate fall, those hours at the top of the clock tower were precious hours of freedom. No double-talk. No politicking. No wondering if anything you say will somehow bite you in the ass later. It was relaxing in a way he had all but forgotten could exist, and he surprised even himself with how much he looked forward to that time each evening.

Before long, it was the pretending that felt real and the reality that felt like pretend. Of course, it didn't escape him that, technically, _none_ of it was real, but that didn't change the fact that everything he did had some impact on the real world around him. Especially on one confused little kid who used to look up to him, and on whom Axel never realized how much he depended until it was too late.

The night Roxas left, and everything went to hell, Axel knew for sure there was something wrong. Something _missing_.

 _"No one would miss me,"_ he had said in a bitter, _accusing_ voice.

But he did.

 

 **IX. The Melodious Nocturne**

You just don't know what you're missing 'til it's gone. Not that Demyx was _capable_ of missing his heart, or even wanting it back... but in his head, he knew something was off. He knew it every time he sat down with his sitar. Myde had been a musician long enough to know what passion was, and Demyx just didn't have it. Not anymore.

After he awoke as a Nobody, it was almost a month before he could bring himself to touch his sitar. It was even longer before he figured out why: Myde always played what he felt like, when he felt like it. He relied on random inspiration and the thrill of the moment to make the instrument come alive beneath his fingertips, beautiful music flowing out of him like an unstoppable waterfall.

Demyx... felt nothing. He couldn't feel like playing, he couldn't be inspired, and he certainly couldn't enjoy the moment. When he finally gave an attempt at strumming something, he almost couldn't remember his fingering. Twice he fumbled before his hands remembered what they were supposed to be doing. He wasn't used to thinking about each individual chord and rhythm while playing. He supposed that was what a heart was usually for. The memory of emotion was strong with him, and maybe that was why he was the best out of all of them at faking it. But music— _real_ music—just wasn't possible without real emotion.

Every note came out perfectly, but the music itself was laughable. He tried strumming harder for an angry chord, but it just sounded louder. He tried playing slowly and gently to sound sweet, but it only came out as a quieter version of same, even flat in some places. A washed-out shadow of what music was originally meant to be.

Everyone in the Organization professed to "want" a heart. But even that wasn't possible, because desire is in itself a kind of emotion, and was therefore just out of everyone's reach. None of them would have had the volition to do anything if Xemnas hadn't brought them together and given them a purpose, which was why Demyx never really bothered to do assignments—he didn't want to, so why should he? He much preferred to force himself to exist another way. He couldn't want to regain his heart, but, for some reason, he could want his music back.

Myde played to remind himself that he was alive, and to celebrate that life. Demyx played to remind himself that he _used_ to be alive, and to force himself to hope for something better.

 

 **X. The Gambler of Fate**

Luxord was always one of the quieter ones. He rarely offered up his opinion unless asked, a stark contrast from Rolud's charasma and wire-sharp personality. Of course, back when he was human, he was only pretending to be heartless. Quite a different experience when it was actually real. Or... no longer real, depending on your perspective.

Upon hindsight, it was probably that quizzical curiosity that sustained him those first few years. He watched the others' behavior because Rolud had trained himself to see through some of the greatest poker faces in history. He observed their interactions because, although they all professed to be allies, wearing their new names and new coats as a mark of brotherhood, daily life at the Castle That Never Was was like twelve-way blackjack—everyone showed all their cards but one.

Every action was merely a reaction to something else. Every new hand dealt had a direct connection to what you did with the one before it. Luxord kept well out of their political games—he didn't want to push his luck _that_ far—but nonetheless found it entertaining. The view from the bottom rung wasn't a bad one, and even if it meant he would never advance through the ranks, he was more than happy to keep his observations to himself.

When the Keyblade Master awoke and Luxord's "allies" began dropping like flies, the gambler simply chuckled to himself. Every game had a winner, and the losers had no one to blame but themselves.

 

 **XI. The Graceful Assassin**

It is said that plants and flowers respond best to their tender's heart. This was, of course, proven to be rubbish the moment Rauliam became a Nobody, but perhaps there was something more to the adage than the obvious.

If nothing else, tending his plants gave Marluxia time to think. Making conversation, though it seemed the normal recourse of the others among the Organization's ranks, simply bored him, as did most of the missions he was sent on. The others seemed to rely on both to keep up their self-delusions, but what did one such as Marluxia need with a heart? In his memories, Rauliam had cast aside his heart in name already; becoming a Nobody was just the next step in the progression. Apathy was nothing new to him, almost an old friend. In that regard at least, the loss of his heart changed nothing.

Even then, the seeds of rebellion were planted in his mind. Not out of any desire for change, quite the opposite—this new, emotionless life suited him and his ideals just fine, but having a small but powerful army of same under his command was an intriguing thought to entertain.

When she arrived and he was given charge of her, Marluxia treated Naminé like another one of his flowers. She was fragile, delicate, and laughably easy to control, despite the fact that her powers gave even him cause for trepidation. But she could do nothing against him, and after the first few days, he needed only look at her to reduce her to the likeness of a brittle leaf trembling in the wind. Occassionally, looking at her made him wonder if his plants feared him that way. Supposedly all living things had hearts, so it was possible.

Naminé was his second taste of power over another. He could not enjoy it, but it nonetheless seemed appropriate, like he was born for this. Through her, Marluxia ruled Castle Oblivion with competency and grace, never saying more than he had to because brevity was all that was ever needed.

Betrayal in the Organization was unthinkable... but that was exactly why they would never see it coming.

 

 **XII. The Savage Nymph**

The last emotion Elenar felt was fear. Gripping, paralyzing fear.

Though she would never understand why, Larxene carried an echo of that fear with her all her life.

Life without a heart was a blessing—all the anger she'd carried as a girl at her miserable slot in life suddenly vanished, but at the same time she gained the excuse she'd been searching for. Without a heart, she could do whatever she wanted, and not have what remained of her concience always get in the way. She could get revenge. She could finally get satisfaction.

At least, that's how she thought it would go.

But the acts of violence did nothing for her. The memories of hatred, though she could no longer feel the emotion, refused to go away, no matter how much of Elenar's anger Larxene took out on whatever foe had been assigned to her. It was not fun. It gave her no pleasure, though she pretended to herself that she _would_ have enjoyed it, were she still in posession of her heart. But she did it anyway, because it was safer than the yawning void of apathy that constantly threatened to overwhelm her. Larxene did not torture, maim and kill because she derived enjoyment out of it—she tortured, maimed, and killed because it was the only way she knew to keep herself alive. And in the end, even that wasn't enough.

The last emotion Elenar felt was fear—gripping, paralyzing fear as she ran from the living darkness in a futile attempt to prolong her existance, as the shadows swarmed her, cutting off her air, as tiny black hands plunged into her chest and ripped out something warm and pulsating and _vital_.

As Larxene's body dissolved and her soul scattered to the winds, that echo of fear came back. For a brief moment, she wondered—

And then there was nothing at all.

 

 **XIII. The Key to Destiny**

He always wondered what it was he was supposed to be missing—this thing everyone called a Heart. The way some of the other members put it, it seemed more like a burden than anything else. And yet it was what everyone around him was continually seeking. It was what he, more than anyone else, was working so hard to attain.

Was there a difference between one heart and another? Vexen probably knew, but he wasn't inclined to share his thoughts even before he died. _Or... faded_ , he reminded himself. It was always so difficult to keep in mind that he didn't even truly exist. He _felt_ like he existed... or at least, he _thought_ he did. Or maybe that was just another illusion. Just another way he was "different" from the others.

Roxas had no memories. While the other Nobodies relied on past experience to fake their emotions and will themselves to continue to exist another day, Roxas knew nothing of his "other," as he had taken to calling the concept, save for what he saw in his dreams. The very word "dreams" had come, unbidden, to his mind the moment he had one, like the words for so many other concepts he wasn't supposed to know about or understand. Was that was having a heart was like? Being able to understand all those inconsistancies and irregularities that humans exhibited? Or was it simply the ability to accept those quirks as fact without thinking about it at all?

That had to be it, he decided. All Nobodies _had_ was thought, so the ability to stop thinking and simply _be_ was surely the crucial difference they had all been trying to put a name to. He considered it, and decided it sounded kind of nice. Sort of like those kids in Twilight Town, or the way he and his friends acted on top of the clock tower.

Of course, _acting_ was entirely different from _being_ , as he had learned time and again, even if Roxas couldn't tell the difference in himself sometimes. But still, even if it sounded strange, he wanted to try it out. He wanted to experience more of those precious hours atop the clock tower, simply enjoying the tactile pleasures of a bar of ice cream and mindless conversation, and basking in the ethereal beauty of a sunset.

Then and there, Roxas decided: if he ever did get a heart, he would settle for only one—his own.

 

 **XIV.**

It took her a long time to decide that her nonexistant past and uncertain future didn't matter to her, as long as she could be with the two she loved in the present. That decision was a hard one to make—for what did a Nobody like her even know of love? What about it was so all-important that she'd sacrifice everything for the sake of it? Memories that weren't hers and emotions she wasn't supposed to have swirled around in her mind like a maelstrom that threatened to rip her apart from the inside out. She didn't know how to deal with it, so she swallowed it. And there it festered like an untreated wound.

It wasn't until later that she finally learned... She wasn't Nobody. She was less than Nobody.

She was Nothing.

Everything changed with that realization, but in the grand scheme of things, nothing changed at all. She still had a purpose to fulfill. Even if she understood more about herself and the reason it must be, even if the prospect of her ultimate fate frightened her like nothing else... even if the thought of hurting him so deeply in order to thwart that purpose made her want to fall asleep and never wake up to this nightmare... In the end, she knew what had to be done.

In the end, she discarded her decision to live for today, so that her loved ones might live for tomorrow.

"Roxas..." she said softly, "I'm out of time."

Those words would be the end of her... and the beginning of everything else.


End file.
